


we're so disarming, darling

by leonshardt



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Doomed Timelines, F/F, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1946991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonshardt/pseuds/leonshardt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's a time bomb and you're a cynic; against all odds, you find each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're so disarming, darling

**Author's Note:**

> I like playing loose and fast with the doomed timelines because then I can pretend canon doesn't matter anymore.

 

The first time you meet Tomoe Mami, you’re hanging upside down by your ankles, dangling over a sea of writhing snakes. The witch responsible is hovering above you, too far out of your reach to kill. She’s got vines wrapped around your feet, scaly and thin things, and far too precarious for your liking. You slash desperately with your spear, twisting, but the movement causes you to slip and then you’re falling, falling to a death of fangs and venom and agony.

You scream, eyes wide open, and through the rush of wind against your face and the fast approaching ground you _feel_ it, a shimmering distortion in the witch’s barrier.

There’s another magical girl here.

Something flashes yellow at the corner of your eye, and all of a sudden it catches you out of the air, a thick webbing of yellow ribbons. You bounce to a halt, safe for now, the snakes hissing uselessly below you. You hastily roll to your feet, looking around wildly for the newcomer.

You spot her far above you, swinging gracefully from her magical ribbons, running straight at the shrieking witch with a look of fierce concentration on her face. You squint, and notice one of the witch’s lizard familiars lurking behind her, about to pounce.

The new girl doesn’t seem to notice the demon, and in a panic you scream at her, frantically waving your arms in warning, but before she can react the lizard _leaps_ and the next thing you know you’re summoning your spear and hurling it, hard, at the familiar.

Your aim is true, but the other girl doesn’t even glance back even as the demon explodes in a shower of scaly hunks.

 _Gross_ , you think, and over the roar of adrenaline pounding in your ears you hear the girl cry _Tiro Finale_ and then everything ruptures into a blaze of light and chaos. There’s a booming sound like a cannon going off, like jamming steel into your eardrums, and it’s so much and _so_ uncalled for that you half-expect the barrier to implode from the sensory overload alone.

Exhausted and still half in shock, you squeeze your eyes shut and flop backwards onto the coil of ribbons and wait for the pandemonium to end.

 

* * *

 

 _My name is Tomoe Mami,_ she says, holding out one hand for you to shake.

You ignore it, electing to cross your arms against your chest instead. You arch an eyebrow at her, but she doesn’t falter, just keeps smiling serenely at you and it _pisses you off._

See, normally you don’t consort with other puella magi. Sometimes it’s for the sake of territory, the kind of self-interest you’ve long since slotted into your survival tactics. Greed doesn’t apply to harvesting grief seeds— it’s ecology, is what it is. It’s messy, nasty business and usually the new girls die or leave before you can really remember their names, and in the end it’s all the same to you.

But this girl isn’t a newbie. She’s got experience, and you can tell by watching the way she handles her flintlock rifles that she’s not like the girls you’ve met before. She’s got blonde curls and a quaint western battle outfit, which fades into a school uniform once the barrier dissolves.

As you watch, she kind of spins a little, summoning a cup of tea from midair and catching it with her pinky in the air.

“Nice trick,” you say, as the girl takes a dainty sip.

She slants you smile that is also a challenge. “I suppose I should thank you for saving me back there,” she replies.

“No problem,” you say, a little grudgingly. “You saved me first, actually.”

Her smile never flickers. “Then it would seem that we could mutually benefit from each other’s company.”

You look down at her hand, still extended, and you say in disbelief, “What, you mean you want to do this _again_?”

“If you would like,” she says. You look down, and back up, staring her right in the eye, and after a long pause, you shake her hand.

 

* * *

 

Looking back, you did a lot of stupid things in your life, but none ever so bad as taking Mami Tomoe up on her offer.

 

* * *

 

Teamwork isn’t your strong suit, but you learn from Mami, and she learns from you, and at the end of the day the two of you are a force to be reckoned with.

You learn that she uses her ribbons like an extension of her body, a sort of convenient apparatus, and eventually you stop being so surprised when they suddenly appear beneath your feet mid-battle, lifting you up and out of danger.

“Whoa,” you say, and Mami flashes you a thumbs up, leaping past you.

She’s a damn good shot with her rifles, that girl is. She’ll shoot bullets right past your ear, hitting demons behind you without so much as blinking. Together you work out strategies, and eventually it becomes a familiar routine. With Mami covering you from a range, you find that you don’t have to watch your back quite as much, freeing you up to get aggressive right up in the witch’s face.

Over time you come to expect her _Tiro Finale_ , and it never quite hurts as much as it did the first time you witnessed it, but you still wince every time. Afterwards you always share the grief seed that drops, but it turns out that when you’re working as a team both of you use less magic to defeat witches than you would if fighting alone. At the end of the day, you’re both alive, and maybe this alliance is worth something after all.

  

Once or twice she asks you to move in with her, after finding out you’re technically homeless. You refuse at first but she insists, asking more and more frequently until you cave and say _fine, as long as there’s food where you live._

It turns out to be a pretty good idea.

Mami lives in the penthouse of an uptown apartment, one of those austere glass buildings that are so common in that part of town. It fits her, you think, the moment you step into her front door. The furniture is modern but all the chairs are mahogany— classy, just like her. The flat’s surprisingly big for one person, probably even roomy enough to house a family.

You pointedly don’t ask about that last part.

You raid her refrigerator instead, grabbing as much food as you can carry. Mami watches in amusement as you cram frozen bread into your mouth, barely pausing to chew properly.

“I’ll go grocery shopping tomorrow,” she offers. “Most of the food in there is probably expired.”

You eat it anyway.

 

* * *

  

You settle in, eventually. You find a routine. At night you hunt witches with Mami, and it’s the kind of comfortable exhilaration you won’t get tired of for a long time.

When you get home at night, you share a bed with Mami. Technically, there are empty rooms you could sleep in, but this way you can save on heating bills and maybe, maybe stave off some of the nightmares.

She talks in her sleep.

You never tell her.

  

Mami nags you to go to school, and you refuse every time.

“There’s no point,” you say. “Hunting witches is a full time job.” Mami sighs in exasperation, wringing her hands at the shiny-pressed new school uniform lying on the couch that you’ll never wear.

“But I already enrolled you! You’ll get student discounts at the _arcade_!” she exclaims.

You just laugh and shake your head. You’re not a do-gooder like Mami; you’ve never liked school anyway. The best, probably only good part about the contract is that you’ll never be bound by obligations again.

You watch Mami get up early every morning, coil her hair into those distinctive twintails, dress up in her fancy school uniform, skirt and tights and vest. On good days, you cook breakfast for the two of you. She always kisses you gently on the forehead before she leaves, waving goodbye and reminding you to lock the door.

It’s nice, you guess. It’s so _her_ , this make-believe normal life she leads.

Maybe it’s because you both know you’ll never, ever have normal lives again.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes Kyubey visits the apartment, and it makes you uncomfortable but you can’t quite articulate why. You want to shoo him away, but Mami always treats him like a dear friend. For heaven’s sake, she practically has a _tea party_ every time he comes over.

“How are you today, Kyubey?” she coos, scratching his tummy as he rolls over contently. He turns his head and looks right at you with his red, unblinking eyes, and you frown back at him.

When Kyubey leaves, you ask her: “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” she says, eyebrows raised.

“Treat him like—like a _pet._ ”

Mami tilts her head. “He’s an ally, Kyouko. A friend. He’s helped me so much; hasn’t he helped you?”

“Not really,” you say. “He says cryptic shit sometimes, I guess. Never really done much for me at all.”

“He’d help you if you asked him to,” she says, and you blink silently at her.

You haven’t asked anyone for help in a very, very long time.

 

* * *

  

One day Mami brings two girls home from school. They’re puella magi, like you, and it doesn’t take long for you to figure out what’s she’s doing.

“My God, you’re _training_ them, aren’t you? Like lambs for slaughter,” you hiss, and Mami elbows you in the ribs, smile never faltering.

“They’re my juniors, Kyouko. Be nice.”

The first one smiles timidly at you, pulling at her white stockings nervously. “Hello Kyouko-san,” she says. “My name is Kaname Madoka. This is my friend, Miki Sayaka.”

“Hey,” the one called Sayaka says, offering you a broad grin. “Mami-senpai says we’re going to patrol together from now on. With the four of us, together we’ll be unstoppable!” 

Sayaka strikes a dramatic pose, waving about an imaginary sword while Madoka and Mami giggle. You stare at the girl with the blue hair, and you feel your stomach drop ever so slightly.

You’ve seen this situation before. It’s a formula that’s happened in the past, to hundreds, thousands of girls, and they all start out like this. Warriors of love and justice. The ones who crack and spill open over time, the ones who can’t handle the eventual realization that the contract is a slow-burning poison that’ll give you everything and then leave you with nothing.

You open your mouth to say something, think better of it, and shut your mouth.

There’s no point in catastrophizing; what will happen next is out of your control.

 

* * *

  

You meet yet another magical girl a few nights later, entirely by accident.

You almost pass her by on the street, but two blocks down you notice her hanging back, matching your pace step for step. She’s _following you._

You duck into an alley and wait as she trails behind, sharp and calculating in her footsteps.

As soon as you’re sure you’re not being watched, you shift into your battle outfit. The other girl doesn’t so much as bat an eye.

“You’re in my territory, new girl,” you growl, leveling your spear at her.

There’s a brief pause, and then the other girl steps into the streetlight, into an area where it’s just bright enough for you to notice some of the details in her appearance: long black hair, some kind of shield attached to her arm, dressed in the same school uniform that Mami’s new kouhais wear.

And you know you’re only sizing up the new girl now because she’s letting you, and that alone bothers you. She’s confident. Her loose stance telegraphs _dangerous, experienced_ , and it’s then you realize that if this encounter came down to a one-on-one fight, you’re not sure who’d win.

The girl looks you straight in the eye and says, “ _Don’t try to save Miki Sayaka,_ ” and you feel a chill run all the way down your spine.

“The hell?” you say, lowering your spear. “That girl’s got a hero complex the size of Japan. What the hell do you think I’m saving her from? Her own martyrdom fantasy?” You narrow your eyes. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

By the time the last word leaves your mouth, you’re talking to thin air. You blink twice, searching the alley with your eyes, but the girl is nowhere in sight.

It’s unsettling. Maybe you should ask Mami if she knows who this girl is, and why she’s following you into dark alleys just to disappear in the blink of an eye.

The girl’s words ring in your head.

_Don’t try to save…_

Yeah. You gotta admit, sometimes you just want to grab Sayaka by the shoulders and yell at her to stop being such a _child_. After all, once upon a time you were in her position, back when you made a wish that you thought was too selfless to ever fail.

You were wrong, obviously.

Everything fails eventually.

 

You stay on your toes for the rest of the walk home.

 

* * *

 

Whenever you meet another magical girl, there’s always the same unspoken question hanging in the air:

_What did you wish for?_

Contract wishes are like bad tattoos, you think. You get them when you’re young and you regret them when you’re older and wiser.

“Do you regret your wish?” you ask Mami one night, when both of you are curled up in bed, blankets wrapped around you like a cocoon.

There’s silence, and you think maybe she’s not going to answer you but then she whispers, “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s stupid, I know. I just… I keep wondering if things would have turned out different if I wished for something else, you know?”

Yeah. You know the feeling.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” she continues. “Maybe if things turned out different, I would have never met you. What would you have chosen?”

 _I would have chosen You_ , is what you don’t say. _The contract has taken everything from me but it has given me you, and for that I am grateful_. You run the words over in your head like a litany, like a prayer, like a lifeline. You close your eyes and she very carefully presses her lips against yours, and you wonder what you ever did in your life to deserve Tomoe Mami.

 

* * *

  

A week later, what used to be Miki Sayaka dies in a fiery explosion, taking Madoka with her in her death throes.

You’re just about to collapse in the dirt, when all of a sudden Mami _screams_. You turn around, startled. Mami continues wailing, mouth open in horror, tears painting tracks down her cheeks.  It’s an awful, screeching sound, an involuntary noise like an animal caught in a trap, and it hurts every jagged edge of your heart to hear.

She fumbles with one of her rifles, shoving the barrel under her chin, and without thinking you let out a hoarse shout and slap the flintlock out of her hands where it discharges harmlessly against the ground.

“ _What the everloving fuck?_ ” you scream, whirling towards her. She shrinks in on herself, still crying, and you soften just a little. She’s blubbering inelegantly, heaving, wrenching sobs, nose red and running, eyes puffy.

You exhale. Then very carefully, you wrap your arms around her and hug her tight, squeezing as if you could press the misery right out of her.

“It’s over,” she says, her face buried against your neck. “Don’t you see? This is how we end, it’s over.” Her voice cracks in the end and you shush her, stroking her hair soothingly.

“It’s not over,” you tell her firmly. “It’s not over ‘till we’re both dead and cold.”

And the thing is, you want to believe your own words. So, so badly, you just want everything to be okay, you want Mami to be happy again, for Madoka to be okay, and for Sayaka to be alive and well and _human_.

“We’ll make it,” you say quietly. “You and me. We’ve come so far already, and it’s sure as hell not gonna end with this.”

After a while, Mami’s sobs fade into whimpers. You hold her in your arms, rocking back and forth, and you do not let go for a very long time.

 

* * *

 

For the first time in history, Mami skips school the next day.

You wake up in the morning to find her sitting in the kitchen with a mug of cooling tea between her hands, staring into the distance.

“I’ve been foolish,” she says quietly.

It hurts to look at her, and it hurts even when you look away, because no matter how hard you repeat it— _don’t think about the past, don’t think, don’t_ — she is so much like you. Girls with dead families, girls with dead friends, girls with shuttered hearts nailed closed and painted over with smiles, tea, and food.

You take a seat across from her. You want to hold her hand, want to comfort her, but she pulls away when you reach out. You drop your hands into your lap instead, feeling hot tears prick at your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and the words feel useless on your tongue. “I feel responsible, too.”

It’s true, and that’s what hurts the most. In the end, it was because Miki Sayaka reminded you of yourself, and when she died it was like a piece of you going too.

Mami takes a sip from the mug, face blank. “I’m not like you,” she says. “I can’t do what you do, that thing where you shut all your feelings away and pretend not to care.”

“Yes, you can,” you say. “You’ve been doing it all along.”

“Not like you,” she says, hands shaking. “I’m not strong like you are. And sooner or later, it’s going to kill me.”

Her words are true and you both know it, and nothing feels worse than not being able to argue.

“Tell me, Kyouko,” Mami says. “Do you love me?”

You sputter, taken aback. Then very slowly you meet her eyes and you say, very carefully: “Honestly? I don’t know if I can. Love, I mean. Not anymore, not like I used to. Ever since—“

 _Since I killed family because I loved too much and too far,_ is what you want to say, but the words catch in your throat. It doesn’t matter anyway, because Mami nods like she understands. She probably does. That girl knows things you think she shouldn’t, and you can never quite get used to it.

“I think love would drive me crazy, anyway,” you mutter finally, and Mami offers you the tiniest of smiles.

“You remind me of someone,” she says, and you furrow your eyebrows.

“Who?”

“A fictional character, actually. Shakespeare,” she clarifies. “A character named Ophelia.”

“Oh,” you say. “What happened to her?”

“She drowned,” Mami says simply.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes at night you dream that you are leading an army through a strange land, marching perpetually, tireless. There’s a metal horse beneath you and your head is full of fire, and although you do not know where you are going, you never stop. You pass dozens of rivers, all tangled together like snakes, and when you look down every single one is filled with floating flowers.

 

* * *

 

You get coffee with Mami after patrol the next day, and to no one’s surprise Akemi Homura is waiting for you in the café.

She’s sitting at one of the booths by the windows, chin in hand, watching with disinterest as pedestrians walk past the window. There are two mugs of coffee and one cup of tea placed neatly in front of her.

“Drinks are on me,” she says, as Mami slides into the seat across from her. You thumb your soul gem where it’s wound around your finger, and follow suit.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Akemi-san?” Mami says, and there is an edge of caution in her voice.

“I am here to warn you: there is a storm coming,” says Akemi Homura, and then everything quickly unravels from there.

The strange girl talks and talks and the words _witch_ and _Walpurgisnacht_ and _end of the world_ ring in your ears, and when she starts talking about goddamn _time travel_ you stand up abruptly and walk out of the café, not even turning back when Mami calls your name.

“Wait!” Mami calls after you, her footsteps punctuated by the door slamming shut behind her.

She catches up to you halfway down the street, and you are _angry._ You are furious, livid, and afraid.

“How do you know she isn’t lying,” you say, spitting out the words. “She’s going to leave us here in his doomed world, alone to fight that _thing_ , and for what?”

You’re screeching the words now, voice carrying down the empty street. “After all this, after everything we’ve been through, why does _she_ get a second chance, and we’re stuck here with—with _what_?”

Your hands are trembling, balled into fists by your sides, and Mami gently reaches out to take them in her own.

“It’s not over,” she says, echoing your words from days before. “We fight until we’re dead and cold, and we won’t let this end here.”

You exhale shakily, trying to steady yourself. After a minute, you lace your fingers through hers.

You take a deep breath, and you carry on.

 

* * *

 

You go on patrol the day before Walpurgis Night, just one last time. It is a cloudy night for witch hunting, and the sky is threatening rain for days.

There’s an old amusement park at the edge of town, and rumor says the place is haunted. Children swear up and down that they can hear screaming in the abandoned booths when they pass by, and that the carousel turns on by itself at night, playing cheery wind-up music for lingering ghosts.

You and Mami find out that there are no ghosts in the fairground, but there is a witch living in the ticket booth, and for the two of you it hardly poses a challenge.

The witch hates roller coasters, and that weakness alone makes it very easy to kill.

 _Tiro Finale_ rips the barrier apart like a solar flare— blinding, searing white-hot, beautiful.

The real world flickers into view among the barrier’s falling shards, and when you can focus your eyes, you gasp at the sight.

The leftover energy from the barrier’s explosion was enough to spark the fairground’s dormant generators, and slowly the night sky fills with carnival music and flashing lights as the park comes to life.

It’s a beautiful sight. The air’s warm from lingering magic, there’s music, and the signs above each ride flicker and shine. The carousel is spinning to your left, the tin horses going up and down and around again, and you feel laughter bubbling from within your chest as you bask in the glow.

“No lines,” you say, spreading your arms out wide. “And we didn’t even have to pay for tickets!”

Mami’s beside you, smiling like she’s in on the joke.

“Dance with me,” she says, holding out her hand like an invitation, “Dance with me, Kyouko, for tomorrow we shall fight and die.”

You take her hand and she spins you in dizzying circles, one arm around your waist, dipping you low to the ground. Her hair brushes your cheek as she leans down and kisses you, and you kiss her back fiercely.

You have the girl that you love in your arms, and together you will burn your innocence to keep the world warm, hoping, praying that you’ll be running together to the end of the earth, running to feel the wind, running to the last, hollow finish line.

 _Girls like you and me, we can eat this whole world, watch it storm and crash and crumple, we can have it all_ , you whisper, and you can feel her smile against your lips.

The world ends, and you keep on dancing.

 


End file.
